The Analyst

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚢-𝚜𝚒𝚡: 𝚆𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚠𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

Mirio stared at the drawing in his hands, tracing the edge of the paper. He hissed, bringing his thumb to his mouth when the sting of a paper cut ripped through the pad of his finger.

Continuing to study the drawing, he sucked his thumb, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he examined the detail in the lace of (Y/N)'s veil.

"Mochizuki," the teacher called, making the curly haired boy jump in surprise, "come here for a minute."

Mochizuki felt like crying as he stalked over to his teacher's desk, his chin jabbing into the center of his chest.

Words appeared above his head, the letters shaky and almost ineligible. 'Yes sir?'

"No need to be scared, I just have a question. Did you draw this?" His teacher asked, holding up a drawn picture of Detective (L/N) and himself. Getting married.

The detective wore a long and detailed dress, smiling sweetly as she clutched a bouquet of flowers that were colored a pale pink, while everything else was simply graphite shading. She also wore a delicate lace veil partially covering her face, with Mirio smiling as he lifted it halfway up. He himself wore a suit, the tie also a pale pink to match the flowers.

Mochizuki's face suddenly felt hot as his face practically went into flames. He nodded quickly.

Now, Mirio wasn't blind. The boy had a crush on the detective. There was no missing it, it was there in plain sight, his little school boy crush on a woman much older than him. Mirio understood, he'd been there and done that.

That being said, there's no way he drew this because he wanted to. Someone asked him to.

"Did someone ask you to draw it?" Mirio asked carefully as not to scare the boy.

Mochizuki froze. As per usual.

'Yes,' the letters typed slowly above his head. He reached up, grabbing the s and started to play with it; stretching it, squeezing it, twisting it.

Mirio let him, it was normal for him to do so when he was nervous.

The wedding depicted in the drawing wasn't traditional a Japanese wedding, that much was clear. It was a western wedding, something you'd see in America or Britain.

Who in the class was from America?

Yasmine Nichols, that's who.

"Was it Nichols?"

The teenager answered quickly, something that he didn't do very often.

'I'm not supposed to tell anyone,' the words above his head read as he pulled on the letter in his hands.

"So it was Nichols." Mirio stated, looking down at the drawing in his hands.

Mochizuki froze and almost started to tremble.

"You aren't in trouble, I promise. Can I ask why you drew it for her?"

'She commissioned it,' read the words above his head, typing out slowly as if he wasn't sure. 'I opened my commissions on InstaGram and she DMed me almost immediately.'

That was a few hours ago, after school got out. Nichols had already left for her dorm and Mirio wasn't about the chase his student down to talk about a drawing.

Yet, while he was grading papers, his eyes kept drifting to the drawing, leading to where he is now.

Sitting and staring at it.